


Scars Only Fade

by Element_of_Fabulosity



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Family Dynamics, Gen, Gratuitous OCs, Non-Chronological, POV Outsider, Slight Canon Divergence, Worldbuilding, terrible people making poor decisions, unhealthy family dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Element_of_Fabulosity/pseuds/Element_of_Fabulosity
Summary: “When she looked back on the day her life changed, she remembered the noise. The shouted argument of her brother and father. The screams of her newborn half-brother.”Kija was lucky. As the White Dragon, he was revered rather than feared as Shin-ah had been, or chained as Jae-ha once was. Honored by the people of his village, there was nothing he wanted for. The same could not be said for those closest to him. T for nonexplicit sex, violence, and language. Gen.





	Scars Only Fade

_Now_

* * *

 

Her father was the first person she broke the news to. There was nobody praying at his grave that day, something she muttered a quick _thank you_ skyward for. All these years later, the polished obsidian tombstone still brought back pangs of grief. Ariha brushed the snow off the stone before lowering herself to her knees.

“I’m pregnant, Father.” The words still felt surreal on her tongue. Ariha’s hand went to her still-flat stomach. Eight months left...the child would be born in the autumn. “You would have been a grandfather.”

A second later, she felt the stupidity of her own words and irritation spiked up. Kaigan would be thirty by now, plenty old enough to have started a family of his own. She -his own sister- did not know. She curled her fists. Held her breath for one, two seconds...and let the tension flow from her. She sought to change the subject. “I don’t know who the father is.”

Would he have been disappointed? Ariha searched the tombstone, as if waiting for a reply. Any sign. “It doesn’t matter,” she said at last. “I’ll raise the child on my own.”

Grandmother wouldn’t approve. _Traditionalist old bat_. Thinking about her grandmother made something well up in her stomach. Nervousness. Anger. She forced herself to relax again. “I haven’t told Grandmother yet. I don’t plan to. Let her find out on her own!”

The snarled last words echoed in the still air. Ariha shrugged. “I suppose she’ll want me to marry some well-off bloke from the village. As if!”

Her father’s tombstone made no reply. Of course not. Ariha stood. She brushed the dead grass from her skirt. Half-smiled, tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. “I suppose you’re up there thinking what a disappointment I am.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet your expectations.”

* * *

 

_Before_

* * *

 

When she looked back at the day her life changed, she remembered the noise. The shouted argument of her brother and father. The screams of her newborn half-brother.

She remembered seeing the woman, so much younger than Mother, clinging to Father’s arm. _Floozy,_ Kaigan mumbled, scowling at the interloper. Ariha crossed her arms too. _Floozy,_ she’d echoed. Mother’s expression stung- she might as well have slapped Ariha. She dragged both children inside and sat them down to explain things.

“Your father is the White Dragon’s Warrior,” Mother stated. She had seemed weary, for reasons Ariha couldn’t then explain.

Ariha and Kaigan nodded vigorously. Everyone knew that. Father was proud of it, and they were too.

“One of the things that means is that one of his children must be his successor in that role. That means he has to have a child who is born with the Dragon God’s blessing.”

“That means he’s got the dragon arm,” Kaigan informed Ariha. He looked up at their mother. “So are you and Father gonna have another baby? I get another younger sibling?”

“I wanna have a sister!” Ariha burst out, finally understanding.

Mother said nothing. Ariha’s excitement extinguished. Kaigan must have felt the weight of her silence, put the puzzle pieces together faster than Ariha. At last, Mother sighed. “I can’t have any more children. Your father will marry another woman- the lady you saw walking with him, Hana. She will be your second mother. You must treat her with great respect-” her eyes flashed. “-and never insult her.”

Ariha burned with shame. Kaigan scowled. He jumped to his feet, hands fisted. “That’s stupid. Dad’s gotta get married again to some stranger so he can have more kids? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of!”

Mother gave him a look. “That is the way of this village.”

“Then the whole village is stupid!”

He stomped away after that, and Mother didn’t follow.

 

* * *

 

 

Ten months after the lavish wedding ceremony, Hana was waddling, her belly looking fit to burst. It was spring when she, Mother, the midwives and Grandmother went into the master bedchambers of their ancestral home.

Ariha sat on her father’s knee outside the bedchamber, willing herself not to hear Hana’s cries. She told herself she didn’t care if Hana was hurting. Kaigan sulked in the corner, fingers drumming on the windowsill.

Minutes dragged on, the voices carrying from the bedchamber indistinct.

All of a sudden Kaigan got up and approached Father, spine ramrod-straight. Something in his expression must have bared his intentions; Father slid Ariha off his leg and told her to go play outside for a little bit.

Ariha plodded downstairs to the parlor dejectedly. She hesitated at the front door. People sent her away when they didn’t want her to know what they were talking about. She looked back at the stairs. Making up her mind, she opened the door and slammed it close before tiptoeing beside the stairs, where Father and Kaigan wouldn’t see her.

Ariha was too far to hear, strain though she might. She only caught disjointed words. _Us...what I...._ It didn’t make sense. Then-

“You’re throwing your life away because of a stupid myth! You’ll- what, just gonna keep making babies ‘til you get your precious successor and just let yourself wither away and _die?!_ ”

Ariha flinched as though Kaigan’s words cut her very skin. Father? Dead? Then Father was shouting, his own voice matching Kaigan’s outrage-

“You are eleven! You will understand when you are older- we must all make sacrifices!”

 _Sacrifices._ Father, dead. Ariha found herself wishing she’d never heard this conversation. Kaigan’s voice again: “How can you be this stupid?!”

Whatever Father would have shouted back, Ariha never knew. Another cry penetrated the air, high and piercing.

The baby was born.

 

* * *

 

 

It was tradition that their father would see the baby first, so Ariha waited outside next to Kaigan and pretended not to know why he was scowling so harshly. Their tiered house had never seemed so tall. The villagers swarmed around them, nobody daring to go past an invisible line. They waited. And waited.

Because it was so quiet, they heard the flurry of shouts inside. The door slammed open. Father-

Ariha had seen her father’s anger, loud and explosive like a firework. Never like this- the searing, melting scorch of white-hot iron. Mother’s hand gripped his right wrist. Ariha caught her mother’s expression: a storm of grief and worry and her own anger.

 

* * *

 

 

Nobody else saw baby Kija that day. Ariha and Kaigan were shuffled off to Auntie Sachi’s house. Mother and Father seemed to have disappeared; the adults only told them not to worry. So of course worry swallowed up Ariha’s appetite and chased away sleep, and when she lay in an extra cot that night, she was wide awake to hear her brother unlatch the door.

She ran after him.

Kaigan had a sack stuffed with food and his hiking boots on. A knife was stuck into his belt. All at once, it hit Ariha what he was going to do. She ran forward, stumbling over the uneven road, all other thoughts melting away in her panic-

She slammed into him. They both fell onto the dirt. Ariha grabbed Kaigan’s coat. “Don’t leave me!” she cried.

Kaigan pushed her off him and stood up. He wasn’t much taller than her- but in that moment he seemed like a giant. “I’m sorry, sis. But I can’t stay here anymore.”

He wasn’t smiling; this was no joke. He turned around and began to walk away. _No. You can’t go away!_ Ariha screwed up her courage. “Then take me with you!”

“No!”

“If you don’t take me with you, I’ll scream and wake everyone up.”

Kaigan stepped forward. Ariha stepped back, then remembered that she wasn’t afraid. She jutted her chin out. “I’ll do it,” she warned.

Kaigan snatched the knife out of his belt and held it aloft between them. “You just keep quiet, got it? I meant it- I am sorry. But I think if I have to stay here another day, I’m going to go mad.”

Ariha didn’t know what he meant, didn’t care. “Please!”

“No!” Kaigan almost shouted. He put the knife back in the sheath and walked up to Ariha. For a moment, she was sure he was going to take her hand and run away with her. But he only crossed his arms and made a familiar face. “Look, you wouldn’t make it out there. You’re _seven_.”

Ariha bristled. “Yeah, well, you’re eleven!”

“You’ll just get in my way. And besides, who would be there for Mom?”

“She’s got Father.”

Kaigan snorted. “No, _Hana’s_ got dad.”

Before Ariha could do anything besides blink up at him in confusion, Kaigan turned around and strode away. His back disappearing into the misty forest was the last she ever saw of him.

 

* * *

 

Father was propped up on a small mountain of cushions, a book laying forgotten on his bedside table. Hana wasn’t there, so Ariha clambered onto the stool by Father’s bed. “Hi Father,” she said cautiously.

It took him two full seconds to lift his hand to ruffle her hair. “How long has it been…?”

 _I was here yesterday, but you were sleeping._ “Almost a week, I think,” Ariha said.

Father let his hand fall, sighing. He managed a smile. “Your mother said you had something to show me.”

Ariha pulled the scrap of fabric from her pocket. “Mother’s teaching me how to sew,” she said, holding her project out for inspection.

Father plucked the off-white fabric from her outstretched hand. He turned the fabric over, squinting at the neat stitches. “I see. Well done. Will you sew a dress for your doll?”

Ariha stared at him. “I don’t play with my dolls anymore. I’m too old...you said so…”

Father didn’t appear to hear the last, mumbled words. “I’m supposed to start sewing leather soon,” Ariha said. When he didn’t reply, she went on. “Mother wants me to learn how to make shoes.”

Father passed the cloth back. “How is-”

“Kija doing? He’s fine,” Ariha interrupted.

“That’s good...that’s very good…” Father’s voice faded as his eyes slid close.

Ariha leaned forward, hands balancing on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were glued to Father’s chest. _It’s not moving...no- is it?_ Her heart hammered. _He wouldn’t...not yet..._

Her fear lifted a shade when Father spoke again, eyes still closed. “I just need to rest my eyes a moment...how are his lessons going?”

Ariha sat back, hunching over on the stool. “They’re going fine. He’s learning to read. He’s good at it.” Better than _she’d_ been at four, but Ariha wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

“I was thinking perhaps he should have combat training.” Another pause, like it was taking all of his energy to speak. “I suspect Mother will disagree...but it served me well. Not now, of course...when he’s older…”

Why was Father talking about _when Kija’s older?_ He wouldn’t even…

Ariha didn’t want to finish that thought. “Like archery!” she chirped. An idea came. She sat up. “I could teach Kija how to shoot a bow.”

Father opened his eyes. For just a moment, he didn’t look like he was dying. Like he was in bed because he had a normal cold that had nothing to do with gods or dragons….like he would feel better with some hot soup and a long nap. And then the illusion broke. Father smiled at Ariha, tired and humoring. “I think Tai would be a better teacher.”

Ariha’s smile fell. Tai was the best archer in the village; everyone said so. Of course Father wanted him to teach Kija. And he would probably get his own private class and someone would carve a new bow sized for him instead of making him take turns with Haru’s bow.

And Grandmother would be so proud of _Lord Hakuryuu._

“Father?” Ariha ventured.

“What is it?” Father rumbled.

 _Why..._ she stopped, realizing she didn’t know what she wanted to ask. She knew why he was dying- it was a sacrifice he had to make as the Hakuryuu. He said so. She knew why he had to marry Hana- he had to have an heir. He said so, and Mother said so, and Grandmother said so- but _why?_ Why…

Why couldn’t it have been her? What made the White Dragon’s Warrior so special?

_Why wasn’t she enough?_

She never plucked up the courage to ask.

 

* * *

 

They wore grey for the funeral. In other places, white was the color of death- but that must have seemed disrespectful to the village’s patron god, so bone-white was replaced with something else. Maybe grey was just the most obvious...it was a serious, sad color, not a happy one like yellow or pink.

Ariha blinked at the damp spots on her heather dress where her tears had run down her nose and dripped off the end. Death-grey. Sadness-grey. She didn’t know why she couldn’t focus on what Grandmother was saying. Everything else was distracting. Colors everywhere. The white and blue was gone; the crowd was a mass of grey. _Everyone_ had shown up. Ariha didn’t know that there were so many people in the village.

She wanted to turn around and try to count them all. That would be rude. So she kept her hands folded in her lap like Mother and Hana. And cried noiselessly.

The funeral ended. The crowd dwindled. Mother had to prod Ariha to rise from the ground. She took her hand like Ariha was little and tugged. “Let’s go home now,” Mother murmured.

Ariha shook her head. Again, her mother tried to convince her, and again Ariha shook her head. She couldn’t have spoken if she tried. So one by one, everyone left, and Ariha still stood in front of the fresh-turned earth. She barely noticed her feet carrying her into the maze of tombstones and sitting behind what she supposed was one of her ancestors’ final resting place. It was sacred ground, and Ariha couldn’t have cared less. Bit by bit, her tears stopped. The carved-out feeling in her chest gave way to something else.

It took her a long time to recognize the voices. A nanny who Ariha refused to recognize as family, one of Hana’s sisters. Her charge, little Lord Hakuryuu.

“Can you go ‘way pwease?” Kija asked.

Something sparked in her, hot as an ember, impossible to ignore. _What a little idiot,_ Ariha mouthed to the air. She heard her not-aunt give some polite, predictable response: no, she had to babysit him. The spoiled little prince. _Father’s successor._

She hated him.

“Pwease?” Kija said again, missing the “l” sound entirely. He sounded like he was imitating someone much older and failing badly. Ariha smirked viciously. The not-aunt relented. Of course, Kija got everything he wanted.

She sat there and waited. There were shuffling noises by Father’s grave.

Kija let out a sob.

Ariha felt something splinter inside her. Rising, she stalked from behind the tombstone. Something was rushing in her ears. She didn’t care. “You want to know why he’s dead?” she growled. Her voice was strange. She didn’t care. “You want to know?” she repeated.

Grandmother’s perfect little prince sat there, frozen. Eyes huge and watery and scared.

Ariha relished every bit. She let the words slide over her tongue, savoring each one. “It’s your fault. You killed Father.”

Perfect, blissful horror.

“No,” Kija bleated. “No I didn’t! _I didn’t!_ ”

A memory twinged across Ariha’s mind: sitting on Father’s lap in front of the fireplace while Kaigan acted out his newest story and Father’s hearty, booming laugh and Mother asking _well what happened next_ and it would never, ever be like that again because Kaigan was gone and Father was gone all because of Hana and Grandmother and _Kija-_

Ariha lunged, a wordless screech tearing through her raw throat.

 

* * *

 

Hana’s palm struck Ariha. “You- wretched- child-!” she shrieked, every word punctuated by another slap. Ariha bit down harder on her cheek. She tasted blood. Tears burgeoned at her traitorous eyes, even as she scowled in silent defiance at Hana. Hana squared her shoulders, lifting her hand-

Mother suddenly stood between them. Her frozen-iron gaze was fixed on Hana. The younger woman shriveled under its weight. “That is enough _,_ ” Mother snapped. “She is my daughter. _I_ will discipline her.”

Ariha risked another glance at Kija as she pressed herself to Mother’s side. A blue-purple bruise covered most of his face. He caught Ariha’s eye for a split second and his eyes widened. He scooted closer to Grandmother.

 _Good._ Ariha’s scowl deepened.

“Ariha.”

Ariha looked up at her mother, valiantly glaring and not crying despite her still-throbbing cheek.

“Go to your room. Stay there. _No eavesdropping_. I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

Ariha rushed away, glad for the excuse. She didn’t linger in a corner to hear them- Grandmother had caught her before, and her fear overpowered her curiosity. So she shut the bedroom door and started pacing, trying to think of _anything_ else.

Something caught her eye: a faded blue stuffed cat with wooden button eyes.

Once, it had belonged to Kaigan. She kept it on her bedside table for reasons she couldn’t bring herself to say- because she missed him, of course, but also because Grandmother had told her to forget him. So she had made sure she never would. She remembered the choppy cut of his hair and the roundness of his cheeks. She remembered his too-long jokes and the nonsensical stories he would make up for her.

The image of him standing there in the moonlight with the dagger held aloft between them was branded into her memory. She had never forgotten the exact words he spoke: _I meant it. I am sorry. I think if I have to stay here another day, I’ll go mad._

He had been eleven, she seven. She understood better now. Ariha touched a hand to her sore cheek. She looked in her mirror. Her face was half flushed crimson. She glanced at the stuffed cat on the table. _You knew everything was going to change._

Ariha looked back in the mirror. Now she was eleven.

“I can run away,” she breathed. The words left her mouth and dissolved in the air, leaving her no less weighed down. She tried to imagine it. Mother would be disappointed and sad. Maybe she would even cry. Grandmother would strike her name from the records and everyone would forget about her. Her cousins would say _Ariha? We don’t know who that is._

Blue eyes stared back from the mirror. She’d gotten lost in the forest once. A game of hide and seek had gone wrong. The sun had gone down, and the trails seemed to vanish entirely. The search party had found her huddled at the bottom of a tree, bawling her eyes out.

She was only Ariha. She wasn’t the White Dragon’s Warrior- not like Father. Not a village guard like her aunts and uncles. She wasn’t like Kaigan- she was scared of the wolves in the forest.

Ariha was saved from further pondering by a knock on the door. She crossed the room to open it. Mother stood in the doorway. She was still frowning, but something about it was different. A huge canvas sack hung at her side. She glanced around Ariha’s room, eyes lingering on the clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor and the unmade bed. She tossed the sack at Ariha’s feet. “Pack up your things.”

“Grandmother’s sending me away.” Of course she was. She’d have Ariha executed if she could.

Mother only sighed. “Yes. Ariha, I want you to listen.”

“I’m listening,” Ariha grumbled.

“What happened today- I don’t understand it. But it doesn’t matter why. Attacking your younger brother was completely unacceptable.” Mother stepped closer, kneeling so they were at eye level. “You really hurt Kija. Do you understand that?”

Ariha managed a nod, the lump in her throat growing larger. _He deserved it,_ she told herself again.

“This must never happen again. I don’t care how angry you are or what they’ve done, you _must_ control your temper.”

Ariha was rooted to the spot. Mother was disappointed in her. _Dummy. You’re supposed to know better._ _Stupid!_

Mother pulled her into a hug. “I understand you’re angry and that you miss your father. But even when you hate the world, everything you do has consequences.”

The walls, built up so carefully, began to crack. Ariha’s shoulders quaked. She sank into her mother’s embrace, wishing she could melt away like ice. Shudders rolled up Ariha’s spine. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “E-everything was fine b-before he came along!” she wailed into Mother’s shoulder, gasping for breath between words. “I h-hate him. It’s- his fault- Dad’s dead! _I hate him!_ ”

She felt Mother’s hand move and for an instant she was afraid Mother would strike her. Like Hana. But she only pulled a slightly-damp handkerchief out of her pocket and held it out for Ariha.

Ariha took it and wiped her eyes. Blew her nose. Her head was light from crying and she had to breathe through her mouth. If she’d looked in the mirror, she knew her face would be ugly and blotchy. When she looked back at Mother, Mother seemed even sadder.

Mother sat back on her heels, crumpling the soiled handkerchief in her hands. “There’s something you need to understand about your father’s power. You know that there are four Dragon Warriors. You know there are four new ones born every generation.”

“Just because everyone says there has to be,” Ariha spat. “Because of a stupid _tradition_ and a stupid legend.” She knew what Kaigan meant now. _You’re throwing your life away for a stupid myth._

“No,” Mother said. “It’s not just tradition, and it’s not just the legend. The Dragon Warriors’ powers are the powers of gods, Ariha, and they won’t be gotten rid of by mortals. There are four Dragon Warriors born every generation _no matter what._ Do you understand what that means?”

Ariha shook her head.

“If your father and Hana didn’t have Kija, it would have been someone else’s baby who would be born the Hakuryuu. Say, for example…Yuma’s little girl. Your father would have slowly died no matter what.”

“Oh.”

“This village’s obsession with bloodlines is just a way to make sure the Hakuryuu is always born _here_ and not...say, in some random town in the Water Tribe. This way, he’ll grow up knowing who and what he is. Isn’t that better than some random kid far away not knowing why he’s got scales all over his arm, and your father still dying?”

“I guess…” Ariha mumbled. Stupid legends. Stupid Dragon Gods. She looked around her room to distract herself. Dirty and clean clothes were jumbled together. Blankets were bunched up on one end of the bed. “Grandmother’s sending me away,” she said. Too late, she realized she was just repeating herself. _Dummy_.

“She isn’t going to banish you. We’re going to live with Auntie Sachi and Uncle Sunto.”

Ariha paused mid-step to blink up at her mother. Her pale eyebrows lifted. _“We?”_

“I’m going with you. I won’t lose you as well.”

 

* * *

 

_Now_

 

* * *

 

Ariha took the shortest route back home from her hunt: through the heart of the village. In the unseasonably chill afternoon, few were out and about. Hares held by the ears in one hand, Ariha walked as fast as she dared over the sleeted ground.

She slowed, grimacing. Outside her hut was the old bat herself and her cronies. “Good afternoon, Grandmother,” Ariha said breezily. She sidestepped one of her grandmother’s servants. Before she could slip inside, another moved to block her. Ariha stared down the woman, smile tight. The servant’s smile was tighter.

“Good afternoon. It has been a while since we last saw each other,” Grandmother said.

 _Not long enough._ “It’s busy work, keeping out trespassers,” Ariha lied. She stared at the sycophant blocking the door. “May I get into my house?”

“I would like to talk with you. It is of some importance.”

Ariha tensed. For an instant, she thought of forcing her way past- the door was _right there_. But there was no point, and a bit of pride wasn’t worth the trouble. Ariha swallowed bile. “Of course, Grandmother.”

She led them inside and her grandmother’s servants set the old bat’s litter on the ground. Ariha wondered if she was imagining the way the one’s eyes roved over her one-room shack. She sat down, feeling small again. She hadn’t even begun to show, Ariha reminded herself. There was no way Grandmother could know that she was pregnant. The realization did nothing for her nerves, because that meant Grandmother was there for something else.

Grandmother folded her hands in her lap. “This is quite...quaint.” Her tone made it clear _quaint_ was no compliment.

Irritation seized Ariha. She managed a thin smile. “Yes, it’s a bit difficult to fit six people in. But it’s enough for _me_.”

“It seems to me that you would be more comfortable if you came back to your ancestral home.”

“The home you kicked me out of,” Ariha retorted before she could stop herself.

Grandmother didn’t waver. “I see now my mistake.”

 _Don’t react,_ Ariha told herself. Her hands made empty fists. She exhaled. Did the old bat think she was stupid? It had been sixteen years. “What do you want from me?” Ariha asked lowly.

Grandmother’s eyes hardened. “As you are well aware, Lord Hakuryuu’s twentieth birthday will soon arrive.”

It always came back to him, didn’t it? If Ariha were a better person, she would have pitied _Lord Hakuryuu._ But she had spent too many years aflame with jealousy, and all she could manage was a vindictive satisfaction. “Yeah. I know.”

“We must be prepared to ensure an heir.”

“What, you want _me_ to sleep with Kija? I should have known it was only a matter of time. There’s nothing you won’t stoop to,” Ariha sneered.

“ _Enough!”_ Grandmother barked, spittle flying. “You will show proper respect to Lord Hakuryuu and to me. I am your father’s mother and the head of this village.”

 _And she can have me exiled easily,_ Ariha finished. Something cold and solid and heavy was forming in the pit of her stomach.

“If Lord Hakuryuu will not marry, then as his closest relative, it is your duty to marry and bear a successor.”

The frigid weight dropped to the bottom of Ariha’s stomach. “So, that’s it.” It was like hearing someone else speak, watching someone else stand. “So that’s it,” Ariha said again. “You don’t care about the hut. You don’t care about me. You care about an heir. But Kija doesn’t swing that way, so you’ve got to bring out the old, rotten spare because it’s all you’ve got and it’s better than nothing.”

“That is enough! I wonder now if I have allowed you too much freedom, to wander outside as you please-”

“You _allowed_ me freedom because you didn’t give a damn about me! Now that you suddenly need me, you want me home and safe and pampered in your gilded little cage!”

Grandmother’s eyes blazed. “This has always been your duty, but I believed you would never need fill it. Things have changed.” She set her jaw. “This is what your father would have wanted.”

Those words slammed Ariha to a halt and stole the retort from her mouth. Grandmother was right, and she knew it and Ariha knew it. “Fine.” A bitter taste lurked in Ariha’s mouth. She didn’t look at her grandmother or the old bat’s servants, gazing instead up at the brick wall. “Just give me some time.”

Grandmother relaxed, half-smiling. She’d never seemed more frightening. “I will give you one month.”

“One month,” Ariha agreed. One more month of freedom. She remembered a hard, cutting gaze and the gleam of a knife held aloft in the moonlight. Not for the first time, Ariha imagined packing up her things, strapping on her boots, walking into the forest and never looking back. She pictured her mother, openly crying as she stood on the doorstep of an empty shack. Father would have been so disappointed in her.

Grandmother left with her servants. Ariha sat in the center of her hut, one hand on her growing belly, gazing up at the walls she had called home for too short a time. One more month.

 

* * *

 

 

_Before_

 

* * *

 

She was just fetching more plum wine. That was the lie Ariha recited as she darted from the banquet. It turned out to be waste; nobody asked her where she was going. Nobody seemed to notice her departure at all.

She told herself it didn’t hurt.

At fifteen, the forest paths were no more forbidding than her aunt’s horse stall. She rode down to the base of the mountain, where a village was loud with its own festivities.

Ariha would look back on that night and remember the glow of the paper lanterns strung up over the crowded street. The liquor had burned in her throat. She danced riotously with strangers, nothing to lose, and laughed louder than anyone. She felt the heat of a lustful gaze. Instead of flushing, she smirked and tugged the neckline to bare her shoulder. Gleeful defiance coursed through her, heady as any drug.

She didn’t remember his face, only that he had been older than her by years, broad of shoulder and appealing in a certain way. They fumbled in the darkness, a knobby mattress digging into her spine. She didn’t pull away when he planted his hands on her thighs. When he knotted his fingers in her hair she reached up, pulling him closer and smashing her lips to his in a sloppy kiss.

Ariha remembered the next morning more clearly. There was sourness in her mouth and an ache in her temples when she woke. His back was to her, tanned and battle-scarred. She reached out to graze her palm on the small of his back. He winced at her touch and would not turn around. He pulled on his tunic and coat and traveling cloak, tossed a fistful of coins on the bed next to her and left.

Ariha stared down at the coins lying on the bloodied sheet. Her mind sluggish, it took her a moment to realize what they meant. Red-hot anger splintered the fog of the hangover. With a screech, she flung the coins at the wall.

She was no whore.

When she rode back to Aunt Sachi’s house and dismounted the old mare, only Mother thought to ask where she’d gone. Ariha stopped halfway through her excuse and shrugged. Even if she disapproved of rule breaking, Mother wouldn’t rat her out to the village elders.

“Maybe I ran away,” Ariha suggested. “Then maybe I decided to come back.”

Mother didn’t waver. “You were gone all night.”

There was weight enough in those five words to stop Ariha dead in her tracks. A ridiculous thought: Mother knew about the liquor, the lumpy mattress, the dark inn room and the weathered soldier.

Or not ridiculous at all.

Ariha felt small, felt her fifteen-years-young as she led the old mare past her mother and could not meet those frozen-iron eyes. And at the same time, she knew that if she could redo yesterday, she would do it again.

 

* * *

 

Ariha’s arm was aching from the basket by the time she traipsed up the trail to the tombs. She opened the basket. sitting cross-legged in front of the grave. Someone had already been by that day: the pollen that seemed to be everywhere this spring had already been wiped away.

“I made these shoes myself,” Ariha said, shifting her weight and sticking a foot out to show it off. “All Mother said was _you can do better than that._ ”

She tore a rice ball out of the basket with a huff. “I spent days on them, poking and sewing and glueing and all she can say is I can do better? Like I _wasn’t_ doing my best? Like I was being sloppy on purpose?”

Halfway through her rant, it hit Ariha in a burst of clarity why Mother’s words were so upsetting. “She’s acting like Grandmother,” Ariha mumbled. “I know you know how she is. Critical. Nothing I do is good enough.”

 _Nothing_ I _do. But everything Kija touches is wonderful._ Ariha’s fingers twitched. She busied herself with peeling a boiled egg. She wanted to tell Father how she despised Kija, but something held her back. She knew it was dumb- hadn’t she complained to him about Kaigan when he wouldn’t let her play with him? Hadn’t she told Father how much she hated Kaigan on the occasion they bickered and fists flew?

She scowled at her half-peeled egg. She knew what the difference was, loathe as she was to admit it. Kaigan wasn’t Father’s favorite.

“He’s not as great as everyone thinks,” Ariha growled. She glared up at the sky. “I know, _I know_ , he’s the one carrying on yours and Grandfather’s and Great-grandfather’s and everyone else’s wish. He’s the only one who can. But, still…” she trailed off, unsure how to put the tumultuous emotions inside her into words. She picked out the most easily identifiable, a realization she had come to years before. “I wish Grandmother would be proud of _me_ , for once.”

There was no answer, of course. Just warm sunlight and the faint aroma of flowers.

“You know,” Ariha said after a moment. “I spent years wishing I’d been born with the White Dragon God’s blessing. Now I’m wishing I was a medium. We could have a real conversation, y’know?” Ariha waved her hand between the tombstone and herself to punctuate her point.

She let her hand fall, exhaling heavily. She never could resign herself; some part of her still wished she’d been born the Hakuryuu. Yet, another part was glad it wasn’t _her_ who Father died for. She would never have forgiven herself for it.

Ariha ate in silence for a bit, letting herself enjoy the breeze and sapphire sky, bluer than her own eyes.

The pleasant solitude was broken by the crunch of twigs. Lord Hakuryuu himself was marching up to the graveyard. His retinue was nowhere to be seen. Kija strode up to the grave, nodding once to Ariha. He stopped a pace away, practically emanating expectancy.

Ariha took a generous bite of rice and chewed. Loudly.

Kija cleared his throat. “Would you please leave?”

She didn’t look to check, but he sounded disgusted. _Victory._ Ariha swallowed. “Where’s your babysitter?” she asked.

“I don’t have a babysitter,” Kija retorted. “I’m twelve years old. I’m practically an adult.”

Ariha snorted. “Sure. Your entourage, then. Gave them the slip?”

“No, I told them I would like to visit Father’s grave. _Alone_.”

Ariha fought back a smirk. She supposed Kija was trying to be commanding, maybe even intimidating. She wondered who he was mimicking. Then, “will you _please_ leave?”

“No, I won’t. He was my father too, in case you’ve forgotten,” Ariha snapped.

Kija said nothing for a moment. Maybe he would go away and come back when she wasn’t there. Maybe he would finally take the hint.

Instead he walked over and knelt next to her, back perfectly straight and hand folded properly and much too close for comfort. Ariha didn’t budge.

Kija glanced over Ariha’s hunched form and her basket. “I can’t believe you’re having a picnic here. How can you be so disrespectful?”

“I’m not being disrespectful!” Ariha snapped. “We used to have picnics all the time. Before you were born. It’s not any different.”

“It’s completely different!” Kija retorted. “Why-”

Just then, there was a rumbling growl of a stomach. Ariha couldn’t stop her snort of laughter. “Hungry, are we?”

Kija’s cheeks flushed pink. “Shut up!”

Rolling her eyes, Ariha shoved a boiled egg at him. “Here. I promise Father wouldn’t have minded. I’m sure he’s just happy we’re getting along.”

It seemed to convince him. Kija took the egg, twisting to take it in his regular hand. “Um. May I have some onigiri as well?”

“‘S right there,” Ariha said through a mouthful of rice, jabbing a thumb at the basket between them. Kija picked one up and nibbled at it.

They sat there for a bit. It was surreal, the two of them sitting there like that. Having a picnic. Not throwing insults. Like they were a normal brother and sister. Belatedly, Ariha realized this was the first meal they’d shared in...had it been eight years already?

“I’m surprised you’d deign to sit with me,” Ariha muttered. One of the village boys had called her a whore. He’d apparently gotten nosy about where she ran off to during the Solstice Banquet and saw enough. His stupid friends heard and had bandied about the insult since. Ariha had punched the boy who first started it.

“Hm?” Kija asked. He looked stupid, Ariha decided, with his cheeks stuffed with food like a squirrel. Absolutely undignified. Grandmother would faint. He gulped and dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. “Why do you say that?”

“Nevermind.” Ariha leaned forward to settle her chin in her hand, fingers tangling in her white strands. He didn’t know. Apparently Grandmother shielded him even from gossip. She would say it was a bad influence or some rot.

She refused to entertain the only other explanation: he _had_ heard what they called her, and didn’t believe it or didn’t care.

“Ariha?”

Her name brought her from her pondering. Kija sounded hesitant. She might have even said afraid...but that was nonsense. He was Lord Hakuryuu. “Yeah,” Ariha replied morosely.

Kija shifted. His eyes were glued to the obsidian tombstone. The etched characters of their father’s name. “What was Father like?”

The question sank in, so enormous Ariha couldn’t answer. _Father was…_ she couldn’t say. Kija might as well have asked how many fish were in the sea, but, no- even that was simple to answer: too many to count. All this, Ariha thought in an instant.

The next instant: there was something wrong about a world where Kija had to ask Ariha what their father was like. Of course she knew the reason why: she remembered Father asking after him all the damned time, because he wasn’t to see Kija, not after-

“I thought I could ask you, because I never-”

“I _know_ ,” Ariha snapped.

Gossip moved quick as lightning, after all, and in an instant Father had thrown the village into confusion. Three slashes down the child’s back, they said. It was a great blessing that the young Lord Hakuryuu had lived at all, and a greater blessing that he was not left an invalid.

Had it been a jealous farmer wielding a knife to hurt Kija, their punishment would have been simple and swift. But the village depended on the White Dragon; to banish him would be to bring disaster upon them all. But to harbor someone who had tried to kill the young Lord Hakuryuu- that was also a crime against the very heavens. The conflict hung for weeks like a vast stormcloud over the village, poisoning the air with strife and paranoia.

At seven, Ariha had only felt lost, angry, and confused. Twelve years later, it remained a mystery. Despite his temper, Father had never once raised a hand to her or Kaigan, much less his claw. Punishments had included being sent to bed without dinner and extra chores, never violence.

It wasn’t like him to attack his newborn child.

“But he did,” Kija mumbled.

Ariha realized she’d spoken aloud, and flushed. “Yeah. Who knows why.” _Only Father could say, and…_

Ariha closed her eyes. “He was kind. I used to sit on his knee and he’d bounce me up and down, until I got too big. He always made time for me when I wanted to show him my sewing projects or whatever. If he was busy, he would tell me he’d come look later, and he always did. I remember thinking he was scary when he yelled. He and Mother didn’t fight a lot, but when they did...but you know, I wasn’t even supposed to hear them. They always sent us to one of our aunts’ or uncles’ houses so we wouldn’t see them fight.

“We used to all went on picnics as a family- on the house grounds, in the woods, by the lake near the west village gate. Pork dumplings were his favorite. Or anything else with pork. Pork stew. Grilled pork. We went to that lake one time with Aunt Sachi and Uncle Sunto and Haru. Uncle Sunto told us all about how he and Father would sneak off to that same lake and Father would use his dragon claw and toss Uncle Sunto into the lake. Then Father pretended to get mad and said that he could still throw him, and Kaigan double-dog-dared him to. Mother couldn’t stop laughing.”

Ariha opened her eyes. Kija was watching her with an expression she didn’t want to name. His voice breaking, “Granny says Father’s greatest wish was to serve our master. He waited his entire life for him to return...”

“King Hiryuu?” Ariha knit her brows together, trying to recall the dim memories of her childhood. Like everyone else, she’d been told the legend. She knew their village’s history. She knew about the oath, passed down the generations. Still...

_His greatest wish?_

“...he never talked about that old story.”

Kija blinked at her. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. You’re wrong.” He sniffled. “You’re lying! He must have talked about it- if it was his greatest desire, like Granny says-”

Ariha shifted, looking away from Kija’s blotchy face. She wasn’t lying, but what was the point in telling him that? He wouldn’t listen.

Grandmother didn’t make a habit of lying- not like this, anyway- lies of omission were something different. It was perhaps the kindest thing Ariha could say about the old bat. But...the fact remained that she couldn’t recall a single instance of Father talking about _wishes_ or waiting for his master.

The legend of King Hiryuu and Hakuryuu Guen’s oath to the him had always been... _distant_ was the best way to describe it. It had nothing to do with Father, who lead the village patrol, who took his children fishing, who loved eating pork.

Who had been content with his life and his family.

One of the personas was real- or were they both shades of the truth? Had Father just avoided the topic of his legacy around her and Kaigan and let them fill in the gaps, a great lie of omission?

Kija mumbled something.

“Huh?”

“I said, it’s not a story. King Hiryuu will return one day. I’ll be waiting. You’ll see!”

“Sure.” Even as she spoke, Ariha could see it: the future laid out like a map in front of her. Kija would grow up never going more than a mile beyond the village boundaries. He would marry some young, pretty bride and she would bear his children until he had an heir. Then he would wither away and die like the trees in winter, still waiting.

The same as Father. The same as Grandfather. In another twenty years, the cycle would repeat itself.

Clear as day, Ariha heard Kaigan’s voice all over again.

_You’re letting yourself die because of a story!_

Kija carried the same destiny on his back. What Kaigan hadn’t realized...what, if he’d known, maybe he would have stayed…was that their traditions were there for a reason. Just like Mother said, the power of a dragon god would not be undone by mortals. It was better to accept one’s fate gracefully than not kicking and screaming. Better to bear a burden knowing what it was and why you carried it than remain in the dark.

Ariha rose, picking up her basket and left without a farewell. As she walked down the path back home one more realization struck. This feeling that had been welling up throughout her and Kija’s surreal conversation...was pity.

 

* * *

 

_Now_

 

* * *

 

The days passed by far too quickly after that fateful spring evening. Ariha swung like a pendulum, unable to commit to a choice. Leave the village. Stay there.

At times every fiber of her being seethed at the idea of doing as Grandmother said like a good girl. At times that damnable voice whispered, _wasn’t she being petty? Wasn’t it time she grow up?_

Ariha stood at her window, torn yet again in a bout of indecision. Where would she go? What if Grandmother tried to stop her?

She didn't know. Ariha paced across the room. She was too warm, almost feverish, and the night air was no balm. Questions sprung up like weeds one after another. How far was it to the Xing border? Could she make it that far, pregnant? How could she survive on the road, alone?

Ariha glanced at the half-finished boots, unstitched rabbitskin and sun-baked leather waiting to be glued. A half-formed thought poked through her mind like a budding flower. Everyone wore shoes. She knew how to make them- was quite good, when she put in the effort-

But livelihood wasn’t the real problem, was it? Say she settled down somewhere- her skill set would translate easily enough to guarding another village. Other villages had guards, right? Hell, she had no qualms with selling her body if it came to that. The real problem-

“What am I supposed to do?” Ariha asked aloud. Stay or leave? What did she want? What was right? _That_ was the question driving her mad.

The days spun on and Ariha still had no answer. Her one relief was that Grandmother kept her distance. Ariha’s few visitors were her mother, two cousins who’d joined the Village Guard alongside her, and the tanner’s apprentice, who Ariha suspected was sweet on her. The last frost of spring ended. The field between Ariha’s house and the wood bloomed a carpet of little yellow flowers.

Kija’s twentieth birthday came. Ariha watched the fireworks from her yard, sipping cheap sake and toying with the idea of riding down mountain to the villages in the valley.

 _Two more weeks_ became _ten more days_ and still Ariha could not decide. Her house lay in disarray, her belongings having been packed and unpacked and re-packed more times than she cared to count. With nine days to go, she got as far as standing on the dirt path, the forest’s shade before her and the flowered field behind.

Her nerve failed her. She returned home and cried apologies to her father’s obsidian monument.

There were eight more days to go when a knock sounded at the door. Ariha’s heart fell. She yanked open the door and sagged in relief. “Mother!”

Ariha wondered how terrible she must look, for Mother to look so worried as she stepped inside. Or, she thought, Mother had heard Grandmother’s latest scheme from the grapevine. “Have some tea?” Ariha offered.

“Please and thank you,” Mother said.

Ariha let Mother have her one chair, then brought in a split log from the pile outside. Building up the kindling kept her hands busy while she chattered.

“You’ve heard what the old bat -sorry- wants me to do?” Ariha asked. “She finally gave up on marrying off Kija. Suddenly I’m _important_ .” She ground the flintstones together harder than necessary, sending a shower of sparks over the dry twigs and leaves. “You should’ve heard the bullshit she was spewing… _’now I see my mistake’_. _Wouldn’t I be more comfortable there?_ ”

Mother said nothing, waiting for Ariha to finish.

“I wanted to throw her out. But then- she said, this is what Father would have wanted-”

“Perhaps,” Mother murmured.

“-and what am I supposed to say to _that?_ She’s right and she damn well knows it. Father married Hana so he could have Kija.” Ariha hung the full kettle over the fire and went to sit. She folded her legs under her on the edge of her futon. “I keep thinking...years ago, I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat, just so I would _matter_ to her. But Grandmother made it clear who her priority was.”

Some scars, it seemed, could only fade.

“And I keep thinking...say I did move back to that fancy old house with a respectable husband and played at being a housewife. Everyone would stop gossipping behind my back, talking about who I’ve slept with. That bitch herbalist would stop sneering at me every time we see each other.”

“Hm,” Mother agreed.

“Is it wrong to despise them for that? That...” Ariha searched for the right word. “...hypocrisy?”

“I believe your water is boiling.”

It didn’t escape Ariha that her mother didn’t answer. But she didn’t press it, and took the kettle from the fire. “I want to throw a _fuck you_ in Grandmother’s face just to see her reaction,” she commented as she searched the messy corner for her jar of tea leaves.

That earned a chuckle. Ariha poured the hot water over the leaves, passing one cup to her mother. There was something else still bothering her that Ariha had avoided mentioning. _Now or never._ “I’m pregnant,” she blurted.

Mother’s head jerked up. She blinked at Ariha.

Ariha drew her shoulders in. “I don’t know who the-” she started, right as Mother spoke.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Mother said awkwardly.

“-um. Thanks.” Ariha took a gulp to save herself saying anything and almost spat the scalding tea back out. There were going to be blisters later. “I don’t know who the father is, nor do I particularly care. The other day I was thinking, and...I realized my kid will have a better future here than living on the road or settling somewhere else. I’ve got friends and family here. You’re here.”

Mother’s eye crinkled in a smile at the last bit. She made that odd expression, the thousand-yard stare she did when she was deep in thought. “Yes, it will be easier in some ways,” Mother said, wiping her eyes with a sleeve. “In other ways, his or her life will be even harder.”

“How do you mean?”

“As the older brother or sister to the next Lord Hakuryuu.”

_Oh._

They would be a repeat of her and Kija. The successor and the spare.

Ariha had wanted to hate herself for noticing. Bit by bit, she had realized how Kija was suffocating under Grandmother’s thumb. How isolated he was. How obedient. How blind, because he thought that was normal. Ariha felt sorry for her mess of a brother, but she could not let herself forgive him. Too many years of envy had driven a rift between them.

Her hands rested on her stomach. Did Father know how much it hurt? Every time he asked about Kija, every time he made it clear that Kija was his favorite when the times they’d been in the same room could be counted on one hand?

“I won’t be like Hana was,” Ariha vowed. “And I-” there was a lump in her throat. “I won’t play favorites like Father did.”

Ariha didn’t know if it was enough. Here they were again, come full circle. Stay. Leave. Toe the line. Rebel. Be responsible. Ignore her responsibility. Ariha didn’t know which was the right choice- for her, for her child. She looked up at her mother. “What should I do?”

“I think that _you_ need to decide what is right for you,” Mother said slowly. The crow’s feet around her eyes deepened. “Whatever it is that you choose, I will support it.”

Of course. Ariha gazed down into her swirling tea, now lukewarm. She was an adult. She had to make her choices alone now. She sat there, saying nothing while her tea cooled. Mother didn’t push or prod her, only waited and waited.

Ariha thought about everything- Father, Grandmother, Hana, Mother. The tanner’s apprentice, Aunt Sachi, that stuck-up bitch herbalist. The histories so carefully preserved in her family’s ancestral home. She thought of her back pressed to the stairwell, listening to the shouts descend. She thought of a clear spring day ages ago, of onigiri and hard-boiled eggs. An argument, ended in tears that weren’t hers.

She had missed the answer because she didn’t want to think about it. “I know what to do,” Ariha said. She looked her mother in the eye. “I’m leaving. I don’t owe Grandmother or anyone else a damn thing. Maybe Father would’ve been upset, and that’s fine. I won’t apologize for being a disappointment anymore.”

 

* * *

 

 

True to her word, Mother didn’t say a word against Ariha’s choice. Even when Ariha couldn’t take it anymore, and asked if she would be okay on her own, she just pursed her lips.

“I will be fine,” Mother replied.

Ariha opened her mouth to protest. She reminded herself that other people’s opinions of her didn’t matter. “Will you help me?”

“Certainly.”

Where the days had sprinted by before, now they flew. They had to be clever about this, Ariha said, and Mother agreed. That evening, Mother took Daffodil, her roan, for a ride through the forest.

She trotted back into Ariha’s yard long after sunset. Ariha waded through the knee-high grass, lantern held aloft. Mother’s gray hair looked pale in its light. She shook her head when she came close. “You were right; the patrol’s been told to keep an eye out for you.”

“Paranoid old bat,” Ariha muttered as she patted Daffodil’s muzzle. Inwardly, she wondered if Grandmother had somehow caught wind of their plans.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mother said. She clicked her tongue. The old stallion broke into a trot. A second later, Ariha called out.

“Wait!” Ariha jogged after her mother.

Mother pulled up, twisting in the saddle. “Hm?”

“I- um. I had a thought earlier, and it’s just been bugging me all day. When I was little, you were really fussy about shoemaking...about leatherworking in general, but shoes were the worst.”

Mother grinned. “Are you still bitter?”

Ariha plowed forward. “A few weeks ago, I thought, ‘how on earth will I live on the outside?’ Then I realized, I have the know-how be a cobbler. Everyone wears shoes, after all. Did...did you do that on purpose?”

“Yes.”

Ariha blinked, taken aback. The idea had seemed far-fetched when she thought it. Manipulations were more up Grandmother’s alley than Mother’s. “Really?”

Mother rubbed Daffodil’s neck. “After Kaigan ran away, I was sure you would follow him. It scared me more than anything. So I resolved to give you the best gift I could, a way to survive outside this village. I’m sorry that I was so harsh, but it was necessary to hone your skill.”

“Huh. Don’t be sorry.” Ariha smiled. “Thank you. Really, thank you.”

Mother dismounted and pulled Ariha into a hug.

 

* * *

 

“I wanted to say goodbye.”

Ariha paused. It was a habit she had never broken, waiting for an answer that would never come. She wet her lips. “If everything goes right, this will be my last day here, in the village. I won’t speak to you here again.”

That was the trick, wasn’t it? _If everything goes right._ Ariha wondered if she was jinxing herself just by saying those words. She wondered if she ought to ask for luck. She stood there, basking in the sun a minute more. “Well,” Ariha croaked. “Goodbye, Father.”

She meandered back through the village. The fields and paddies were empty. Ariha racked her memory for any announcements. It wasn’t a holiday, was it?

“Hey!”

Ariha looked over. Haru was running down the hill to her. His eyes sparkled. “You won’t believe who showed up,” he gasped.

Kaigan’s face popped up in Ariha’s head before she realized how ridiculous that was. She sighed. “Look, I’m kind of busy right now-”

“Come on, let’s go-” Haru grabbed her wrist.

Ariha yanked it from him, mouth twisting into a scowl. “I’m not interested in the latest gossip!”

“It’s not that!” Haru protested. He bounced on his feet. “King Hiryuu came for Lord Hakuryuu.”

Ariha’s mind blanked out.

“...what,” she heard herself say, and it was like someone else’s voice again.

“My patrol caught some outsiders and there was a girl with red hair. Red, just like the legend!” Haru prattled. Ariha let him pull her toward the village square, the cogs of her mind still jammed on _King Hiryuu came back._

“Then- Lord Hakuryuu met her, and he said she was his master so he’s leaving with her _today-”_

_“What?”_

Haru dragged Ariha with him to the south gate, weaving through the crowd gathered there. It looked like everyone in the village had dropped their shops and their fields and their herds to bid Kija farewell. Ariha stood on her toes to look over a sobbing farmer, Haru still grinning next to her.

Kija was speaking with Grandmother. A pace away from him, flanked by two outsiders, a girl. She was so young, Ariha thought, and so...ordinary. The one remarkable thing about her was a head of red, red curls.

There was a kerfuffle as Grandmother shouted something and shoved a pack and- one of her attendants?- at Kija and Kija shouted something back and pushed her away. Then Kija and the red-haired girl and the two standing by her turned around and walked down the path through the village gate.

Ariha watched Kija and his master walk side-by-side, their backs growing smaller until they were swallowed by the forest. So many emotions buzzed inside her, gladness and relief and envy and sorrow and anger and guilt-

_Everything is going to change again._

 

* * *

 

 

Ariha found herself wandering up a beaten path she knew like her own hand. She stood before a field of monuments, every one bearing the name of an ancestor. Mind fogged, it was a moment before she realized she wasn’t alone.

Mother knelt before the newest tombstone. She didn’t turn or look up, even when Ariha knelt beside her. A lit stick of incense burned between them and the carved stone, an odd custom Mother had brought with her from her homeland.

“King Hiryuu came back,” Ariha said. “I never thought…”

“I don’t think anyone expected it,” Mother said. “But I am happy for Kija.”

Ariha didn’t answer. If she had to be honest, she didn’t care. No, that wasn’t true, was it? “I’m a little resentful.”

“Still?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.” Ariha shifted, the pebbles digging into her knees. She thought about an old, old piece of gossip. Three parallel slashes.  “Do you think Father would have been angry that it was Kija and not him?”

Mother didn’t answer right away. After a moment, then another, she spoke. “Your father wanted so badly for King Hiryuu to come back within his lifetime. He…” Mother closed her eyes. “He was absolutely convinced that it would be _him_ to finally keep that promise and lift his- _our_ family’s burden. He said it was a sign that his firstborn wasn’t the White Dragon’s Warrior. Then around Kaigan’s second birthday, it finally hit him. If King Hiryuu appeared and asked him to serve him, your father would have to leave us behind.

“So, to answer your question...he would have been proud of Kija. He…” Mother took a moment to compose herself. “He only regretted leaving so soon.”

 _Leaving._ What a way to describe it.

“Do you feel almost...guilty for not really believing the stories?” Ariha asked. “What I mean is…like it was something Grandmother and Kija would talk about, and you just listen and think, yeah, sure, that’ll happen, but you don’t say anything.”

Mother gave a little shrug.

Ariha sought to change the subject. “It’s weird,” she mumbled. “King Hiryuu is a girl. A short, scrawny teenage girl. She looks so...ordinary.” It would have been a letdown if it weren’t so surreal. The histories so carefully preserved by the village elders depicted the king as larger than life, inhumanly compassionate and wise. With the Four Dragon Warriors, he united the warring tribes and built Kouka.

Maybe King Hiryuu’s reincarnation was going to found another kingdom, Ariha mused. Another thought occurred to her, and the words were out of her mouth before she realized. “I wonder if King Hiryuu- um. Whatever that girl’s name is- if she remembers Hakuryuu Guen’s vow. I wonder if she’s happy the White Dragon’s Warriors never broke it.”

They sat together in silence a while longer. A thread of bittersweet smoke wafted up into the sky.

“Everything’s going to change now,” Ariha told Father. So many of their traditions revolved around Lord Hakuryuu; Grandmother would have to figure out what to do without him. Ariha bit back a smirk. “No more White Dragon’s Warriors means no heir to worry about. I can stay here without worrying about Grandmother.”

Now she was free. She would keep visiting his grave. She would live in the shack she had made a home, with friends and family close by. She would raise her child there, without a husband. Let Grandmother and the others sneer- Ariha didn’t care anymore.

This thought in her head, she walked away with an extra bounce in her step.

 

* * *

 

The summer of that year was unbearably hot, as if to make up for the chill of the spring. Ariha’s belly swelled in earnest, earning not a few stares. Grandmother visited only once more, and frigidly polite words were exchanged before morphing into snarls. Ariha stayed in her little hut, her visitors few and far between. And that was perfectly fine. She patrolled the boundaries with Haru and his father, her uncle, until the long walks grew too tiring.

The leaves’ color shifted as the daylight hours shortened and the air turned colder, dowsing the forest in hues of gold and scarlet. Leaves blanketed the forest floor, the deadened branches above a grey cobweb over the azure sky.

One morning found Ariha working at a borrowed table, measuring and marking a length of hide. Her mother had foisted the table on her with a smug _I told you so_ after Ariha complained that she couldn’t even bend over now.

Well. She supposed it could be worse; she could be making something larger than a cap. She made another marking on the hide and reached for her measuring tape.

“Ah. Could you please hand me that?”

“Certainly.” Mother picked up the measuring tape where it had slipped off the table. “What would you do without me?”

“Struggle,” Ariha replied, her tone equally flat. “So...how are the horses?”

“Poor Violet is getting worse,” Mother grumbled. “She’s hardly eating; I offered her an apple and she didn’t move a muscle.”

Ariha winced. “There might be someone who could help you down in the valley.”

“Yes, that’s what I told Sachi. She doesn’t think Violet’s up to traveling that far, and then there’s the problem of exposing another horse to whatever it is Violet has anyway. Sunto wants to ask his mother about letting a veterinarian inside the village.”

Ariha scoffed. “She’ll say no.”

They kept themselves isolated to keep Lord Hakuryuu safe. That was the stated intent, anyway. But Kija didn’t need that protection anymore. For the first time in living memory, people had begun to question the village’s traditions. Almost overnight, the community had been split asunder. Naturally, Grandmother was on the traditionalists’ side.

Mother shrugged. “She might not.”

“You think-” Ariha stopped, scissors hovering over the hide. Her face drained of color.

“Are you alright?” Mother asked.

“I think the baby’s coming.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ariha didn’t even have the strength to rise, hours later. She sank back into the futon, listening to her mother move about, cleaning the baby, and made a mental note to make dinner for a month after this for her mother.

Women who had more than one kid had to be absolutely _insane_.

She pushed herself up so she could lean against the wall. “My...my child?” she asked, holding her arms out.

Mother had an expression Ariha was too exhausted to decipher. She held out the swaddled newborn, guiding Ariha’s hands to support their neck in the crook of her elbow. “It’s a boy.” She swallowed. So softly Ariha hardly heard, “congratulations.”

Ariha shifted her squalling son, one shaking finger moving to stroke his plump cheek. “Welcome to the world, Tomoya.”

He squirmed, his cry tapering off before he started screaming anew, hands wriggling free of the blanket he was swaddled in to beat the air-

The world tipped.

A sharp intake of air. Ariha realized it was her own. The exhaustion was all of a sudden gone, burnt up by shock.

Tomoya’s right hand gleamed white, each finger tipped in a nail more like a claw.

King Hiryuu’s reincarnation, that red-haired shrimp of a girl had Kija. She...Hakuryuu Guen had promised that his children would wait for Hiryuu and they _did_ , Kija was there, ready to follow the red-haired girl. There were supposed to be no more White Dragon’s Warriors.

Tomoya began to quiet down, his blue eyes drooping. Ariha blinked, rubbing at fresh tears. It hit her that she’d never once given thought to _what if her child bore the White Dragon’s blessing?_ It hit her that she’d taken it for granted that it couldn’t happen.

“You’ll die too young,” Ariha said, her voice breaking. They said it was a sacrifice, nobly made. _Bullshit,_ she wanted to snarl. _Sacrifice_ meant they’d chosen to give up a chance at life, but Tomoya was never given that choice in the first place. “You won’t get to have a normal life. Grandmother will spoon-feed you all this talk about your destiny. You’ll live and die for King Hiryuu.”

Just like Kija. Just like Father.

Ariha felt numb as she wondered how on earth she used to envy Kija so much. The White Dragon God’s blessing was no blessing at all; only consignment to a life of servitude in the guise of duty. Duty to the village. Duty to their family. Duty to a dead king- now a stranger who just happened to have unusual hair.

Duties Tomoya shouldn’t be given at all, because Kija had fulfilled their ancestor’s stupid promise!

“Haven’t we paid enough to to the gods?” Ariha hissed. She looked down at her son again. He was just beginning to doze off. “Don’t you worry. I won’t let it happen to you too. You’ll be free to make your own choices. I promise.”

The fire crackled. A log broke with a loud _snap_. By the firelight, Mother’s expression was inscrutable. The loss in her voice was clear enough. “I take it you’ll leave then?”

“I have to.”

 

* * *

 

 

The cart was packed with Ariha’s most valuable possessions, Daffodil hitched the front. The sky was slate-grey, as though it too were in mourning. Tomoya was sound asleep, a trail of drool soaking Ariha's shoulder. She released her mother from the one-armed hug, her arm falling to her side. “This is goodbye,” Ariha croaked. “I’m so-”

“No. Don’t apologize.” Mother rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Ariha swallowed. She looked down at the frosted ground. “I’ll miss you. I wish- I wish that I could send letters to you. I wish that you could come with me.”

“I will miss you too, dear.” Mother stroked Tomoya's peach-fuzz hair. “Goodbye, sweetheart. I'm sorry I can't watch you grow up.”

Ariha took Daffodil’s reins and climbed into the cart before she could give herself a reason not to, laying Tomoya in his fur-lined basket and flicking the reins. The cart lurched forward. Daffodil’s withers bobbed in time with his march, the wooden wheels creaking over the uneven earth.

She wouldn’t look back.

Nostalgia crept over Ariha: how many times had she gone down this same road? Except this time, she couldn’t return. Her gaze drifted to her son. Wouldn’t return, even if they welcomed her, she corrected herself. “And who knows,” she murmured. “Maybe we’ll run into your uncle.”

She wouldn’t get her hopes up. Kaigan could be in another country. The wheels creaked as Daffodil plodded along. Ariha looked to the horizon, the leaf-covered path winding deeper into the sleeping forest.

“Kija must know he’s dying.” Ariha couldn’t picture him tiring like an old man. Wheezing breaths, bedridden by an illness he should have shrugged off…she tried to force optimism into her voice, even though it didn’t matter. Who would hear? “He’s younger now than Father was when _he_ was born, so he’s got four years at least. Maybe as many as ten.”

Tomoya shifted. His eyes remained shut. Ariha watched a hawk fly overhead.

She looked back.

Mother’s back was to her as she walked back toward her home. One more person _gone_ from her life, one more voice she would never again hear-

Mother turned. Smiled.

Ariha could smile back.

**Author's Note:**

> So it's a character study of an OC, fight me.
> 
> I've been working on this fic since January. The plot bunny was bouncing around in my head for ages before that. It's been pretty fun. Also painful, but hey. That's writing. Fun fact: a lot of this fic was inspired by Marissa Meyer's Fairest, aka the Evil Queen's Tragic Backstory(tm) IN SPAAAACE!
> 
> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed this work.


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